Saturday, November 28, 2015

An autobiography is the story of one's life, while memoirs, we are told, are more ambiguous than events in life, including what one heard or witnessed, sometimes of historical interest, but more often of personal situations in which he or she has participated. A story or anecdote, either true or fictitious, may have been heard or even read by the author, and included in either memoirs or autobiography, or even expanded into a work of literature. In the pages which follow I plead guilty to a mixture of autobiography and memoir, but a lifetime of writing historical prose, much of it accessible to the lay public, has given me a sense of the sweep of 3000 years of the history of 'Greater Iran', and this enters these pages, as well as some of the actors in the cultural and political history of the Middle East and Central Asia.

“I used to be young and foolish, and poor but happy, but after a
while, I was just foolish and poor.” That is the terse, “elevator”
response I've been giving for more than 20 years to the question, “Why
did you leave archaeology in Israel for law school in the United
States?”

The decision to change careers (and countries) was not an easy one,
and it took a long time. I had lived in Israel for almost 17 years,
beginning when I was 19 and a transfer student from The University of
Chicago to the Departments of Archaeology and Jewish History at The
Hebrew University of Jerusalem.

In the following concise "spiritual autobiography", the subject will attempt to appraise his own development, in the light of the more pertinent facts of his education, following this sketch by a series of brief treatments of five interrelated themes where his present views have been most clearly influenced by the external facts of his education and experience. Couching the recital in the third person and omitting subjective judgements on his own development on his own development as far as possible, he will bear in mind that the reader will scarcely be interested in any biographical detail except in so far as it throws convincing light on the main theme.

While independent nonprofit status offers us more opportunity for
longer-term intellectual and academic freedom than perhaps experienced
by many university-based alt-acs, the continual need to secure more
funding to maintain our salaries does take its toll. Granting is highly
competitive. Regardless of a proposal's other merits, one poor review by
someone with a different theoretical or political agenda can sink a
grant application. For tenured faculty, such issues are time-consuming
annoyances. For alt-acs—including us—these issues can mean the end of
one's salary. Moreover, unlike tenure-track faculty, this precarious
status represents a permanent state. Alt-acs have no means of getting
tenure and no means of ever acquiring the academic freedom that comes
with a guaranteed paycheck.

That precariousness and contingency
highlights the intellectual costs of neoliberalism. We would be more
outspoken about certain issues and directions in “digital archaeology”
if we had some of the protections of tenure. Indeed, our activism and
advocacy on certain issues, especially on open access and concerns about
over-centralization in digital systems has done us some damage in
funding competitions, at least judging from criticisms in failed
proposals. Obviously, criticism and debate are necessary; however, they
are activities that are more survivable by tenured faculty than by contingent alt-acs.

Through the 1980s and 1990s, I published a series of books and articles
on the politics and hidden ideologies of archaeology. To some proper
academic archaeologists that made me a “journalist,” to others, a
“historian of archaeology,” and to others who held an especially
reverent attitude toward the academic discipline, some kind of an agent
provocateur. “You are doing a lot of damage,” a well-known publisher of a
biblical archaeology magazine once told me. The wife of an
up-and-coming scholar chastised me for not being respectful of real
archaeologists. And so it went. Journalists assumed I was not one of
them but an archaeologist, while archaeologists saw me as some sort of
unconventional hanger-on.

Fragment from Lichtheim, Miriam. Telling It Briefly : A Memoir of My Life. Fribourg: University Press, 1999.

A friendly shelter during my final year in Chicago was given me by Pierre Delougaz and his wife Natasha, who had a furnished room to spare. Living with them, and witnessing Natasha's prospering career as a librarian, gave me the idea that I too could become a professional librarian, and could thereby escape the uncertainties, indeed the unlikelihood, of obtaining a university position in Egyptology. Looking back on it, I wonder how I could have thought that a competent young Egyptologist could expect to obtain a professional position in a university or a museum. It was mere youthful ignorance.

One confession I have to make, and one for which I can hardly hope
for absolution, whether from my friends or from my enemies. I have never
done anything; I have never been a doer, a canvasser, a wirepuller, a
manager, in the ordinary sense of these words. I have also shrunk from
agitation, from clubs and from cliques, even from most respectable
associations and societies. Many people would call me an idle, useless,
and indolent man, and though I have not wasted many hours of my life, I
cannot deny the charge that I have neither fought battles, nor helped to
conquer new countries, nor joined any syndicate to roll up a fortune. I have been a scholar, a Stubengelehrter and voilà tout!

Much as I admired Ruskin when I saw him with
his spade and wheelbarrow, encouraging and helping his undergraduate
friends to make a new road from one village to another, I never myself
took to digging, and shoveling, and carting. Nor could I quite agree
with him, happy as I always felt in listening to him, when he said: "
What we think, or what we know, or what we believe, is in the end of little consequence. The only thing of consequence is what we do." My view has always been the very opposite!

Fragment from Gough, Mary. The Plain and the Rough Places : An Account of
Archaeological Journeying through the Plain and the Rough Places of the
Roman Province of Cilicia in Southern Turkey. London: Chatto & Windus, 1954.

As our cart lurched down on to the ferry by which we had to cross the river Ceyhan, we asked ourselves whether the villagers had, in fact, been so tiresome, so importunate, so inquisitive as we had thought; or whether it was we ourselves who had been boorish and hyper-sensitive, unco-operative and ungrateful. We found the question unanswerable, and saddened, we bumped off on the dusty track of the far side of the river, hating the cart, hating the plump, garrulous wife of the muhtar who sat next to the driver, hating the hot sun and the dust and ourselves for being so weak, so tired, and so temperamental.

Monday, November 23, 2015

Milton Anastos on plagiarism in Anastos, Milton V. “The Life of Learning.” In The Life of Learning, Edited by Douglas Greenberg and Stanley Katz with the Assistance of Candace Frede,
37–52. New York: Oxford University Press, 1994.
https://www.acls.org/uploadedFiles/Publications/OP/Haskins/Haskins_Anastos.pdf.

But in our personal devotion and feeling of gratitude to our instructors lurks a great danger which I mention now with some trepidation. Young students in their enthusiasm are often exploited by their seniors. I myself suffered two frustrating experiences, to which I must briefly allude. Both of the professors involved in these episodes are now dead, and I suppress their names in this chronicle. De mortuis nil nisi malum. For one of them I wrote a whole book, consisting of texts (which I either constituted myself or revised and re-edited) and translations. These were brought together in a large and impressive volume in which I am mentioned briefly in the preface without any acknowledgment of the extent of my contribution. The alleged author took over my work in its entirety, "jazzed up" my translations (as he told me orally) (without reference to the original texts), and added a few brief notes, and took the whole credit for the volume for himself.

The second of this pair of plagiarists I worked for for about four whole years collating and checking Greek manuscripts to establish a critical text, but got no word of recognition except for one one brief sentence in the preface. Perhaps I may be forgiven if I remark that these few words. though gracious in themselves, were the very least reward that could have been offered for my long and selfless services, especially in view of the fact that many of out colleagues were aware of the extent of my efforts and had become restive about this kind of academic exploitation.

These were my first publications, and I now list them in my bibliography as "works written in collaboration with other scholars."

My father had a safe, pensionable job in the lower middle-reaches of the Civil Service. I began my professional career at 28, after five years as a student and five as a soldier, with savings of £500 and a legacy of £1,400 from my grandmother, at a salary of £700 a year, in a job which I knew I could not lose except through some gross delinquency or deficiency on my part.

page 1.

Early in 1994 Stephen Milligan, a Member of Parliament universally (and justly) liked and admired for his moral character, died accidentally while enacting an elaborate and perilous masturbatory fantasy. Since I found his fantasy grotesques and entirely without appeal, I wondered how many other people found it so, and this led to a question of the greatest importance: among all the people I have ever known, how many are there of whom I can say that I know what fantasies they entertain (and perhaps enact)? The answer was quick and firm: there are none.

page 2, f.n. 1.

Some of the data which I have selected as important determinants of my life will seem to the reader ridiculous, embarrassing, contemptible or disgusting. Some readers, indeed, may decide that I am a lunatic. If so, they may still find something of historical and sociological interest in the process by which a lunatic was so often invested (by election) with honours and responsibilities.

page 3.

Isn't it nice to know that there are people who permit me - my God, they give me the right! - to compose whatever kind of book I wish?

I was happy to see David Stronach on Friday evening 20 November 2015 in the ASOR hotel bar in Atlanta. We sat for a while with drinks (not port), and I outlined the autobiography project. He told me he was writing autobiographical essays and that one had appeared in BackDirt. He was whisked off to a dinner with friends, I to other matters. Later in the evening I found the article.

Max [Mallowan]—careful not to neglect the education of a junior assistant in one of the finer points of life—also once surprised me at the end of one especially good dinner by suddenly producing a bottle of port. At that same moment he asked, “David, do you know how to feed a Stilton?” I confessed that I did not. “Like this,” said he, all the while decanting a quantity of fine port into what was still left of the majestic Stilton.

The History of the Study of Antiquity through the Lens of Autobiography Blog

This blog is a component of a research project initiated by Charles E. Jones, Tombros Librarian for Classics and Humanities, Pennsylvania State University Libraries, who has a long standing interest in the history of the study of the Ancient Near East and Egypt, and of old world Antiquity more generally. This blog will present the working bibliography of the project, and provide a platform for comment and discussion of autobiographical writing by students and scholars of the ancient world.

I hope also to develop a venue for the publication of new autobiographical essays in the form of an online open access periodical.